Thinking In Golden Times
by brooksburg
Summary: This is basically a total revision of my previous story, 'Through the Earthquake and the Fire,' which I have no plans of continuing. After receiving a letter from his old crush, Andrew wastes no time in going to see her. He's not really prepared for what happens along the way. The characters' names have been changed for the setting. Modern AU.
1. Prologue - On Solid Ground

Author's Note: After some consideration, I decided to discontinue 'Through the Earthquake and the Fire'. To be honest, the story wasn't really going anywhere after almost a year of non-progress. So instead a drew up a little more recent inspiration on my latest travel experience. While I may not be writing 'TEF' any further, I'll keep the story on the website just so anyone who wants can provide input. Oh, and in case you're wondering why Crane or, in this case, Andrew is acting so out of character in the first chapter, just remember where he is and what he's about to do. I know because I feel the exact same way every time I step on a plane.

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><p><em>In my mind, she was perfect. Smart, beautiful, funny, and independent. That's whom I saw first when I went to the Spyhouse for coffee. Everyday at 8:00 am, she was there when I arrived, her eyes glued to either a Tartt, Hosseini, or Follett novel as though nothing else existed around her. She would bob her head to music I could faintly discern while sipping her coffee; ever multitasking without moving.<em>

_It was her eyes that drew my attention toward her. Since that time, I could never understand how such a beautiful woman could have eyes in that particular shade of gold; that certain tint like a calm morning sky before you knew the sun was about to rise from the dawn._

_Her facial features were formed between a combination of English aristocracy and classical Greek, but without any trace of a haughty expression. Her height I would put, at a guess, around five-foot-six, and weight at no more than a hundred and ten pounds. Her physical form would, no doubt, put most 'so-called' supermodels clutching at rags in the dust, and leave their faces green as grass with envy. Her mouth formed in an almost straight line, yet when she smiled her lips became full like a blossoming flower. Her nose was perfectly arched in the middle of her muzzle, set in the indistinguishable Eastern Mediterranean manner, and was neither capacious or petite._

_Her attire only enhanced that picture. Most days in the wintertime, she was usually dressed in a cream-colored sweater and suede pants, both fitting very well to her form. A white wool scarf sat wrapped around her neck, and she had an equally white beret beanie on her head. I've seen a lot of girls enter this Spartan, hipster atmosphere wearing that same kind of clothing, but compared to this girl, those others appeared as if they should almost be groveling at her feet._

_The notion passed through my mind briefly that I was looking at none other than Athena herself; proud, powerful, and sublime in her allure._

_And while I am not usually the artistic type, I had become captivated enough to wish there was a sketchpad on hand, to be able to draw that face in striped fur, that smile, and especially those otherworldly golden eyes._

_She didn't even realize I was looking at her from the corner table. I know, I sound like a stalker, but that's not who I am. Every morning, I saw her, and I ordered my coffee and sat down until I finished it. Then I made an exit for my job._

_I never once approached her, not because I was a coward or that I didn't speak to girls. I am not and have never been a direct person; shyness is my personal forte._

_I'm not going to pretend it didn't bother me sometimes. In some cases, conversation came naturally. In others, I had to wait until I could find the right person to talk to. Just help me to find a topic of common interest and I will talk your ears off._

_But that's all conjecture. Deep down, I know it's not because I'm shy, or an ambivert, or whatever you choose to label me as. I can't approach her because I'm afraid. Not of approaching her, but afraid that I would get shot down before I even had a chance to ask her out on a date. I feel that I've been burned too many times in the past to make that leap._

_I'll always be a hopeless romantic, but I've stopped believing in the cause for myself. I've barely reached the proper age for such cynicism but, yes, I'm already that cynical. Love will never take its time to knock on my door so, for the moment, I'm content to dream._

_I would glance every now and then at the girl sitting in the corner until I left for work, a girl of whom I knew neither name nor personality._

_That cycle continued for another month, when one day I entered the shop and she wasn't there. I didn't bother inquiring about the girl to the barista, not wanting her to think I actually was a stalker, so I let things stand as they were, never questioning the unknown girl's absence. A few more days went by without her already present, and my feeling of contentment slowly dissolved into a bitter, resentful innervation, all due to my idleness._

_If I only knew then how wrong I was._


	2. Chapter One - Lost In A Hour

I was bored. Bored. Bored. So. Fucking. _Bored_. Hell, if listening to Death Cab For Cutie at 3am in this deserted section of the Lindbergh terminal could be construed as being bored, I would fit the bill perfectly.

It was at such a time as this that I couldn't see how anyone preferred flying over other methods of travel. Sure, it was convenient, but I already had a list of valid reasons not to like planes.

One, it was _three in the fucking morning_. Two, carrying my bags most of the way across the terminal had me constantly rotating my shoulders because of the added forty-pound strain. Three, most often on a flight I ended up with a full-body cramp on account of the plastic seating and the equally claustrophobic environment. The final and most important point was that I could already fly under my own power; I, Andrew Blair, was a crane, and, though I certainly could fly for myself, I was not going to risk it for a cross-country sojourn. I was exchanging free flight and open air for cramped quarters and warmth at the cost of a few hundred dollars.

Granted, I've long since become accustomed to living in Minnesota. I officially became a resident of Sartell when I turned five. The winters were lengthy, broken only by the remaining warmer seasons. Past the windows, the January sky appeared niveous and serene as snow fell in light flakes. It had the added bonus of being almost completely quiet in this section of the terminal, which unnerved me to no end.

I really wanted there to be noise. Nothing drastic, mind, just something to break the silence. I'd have flapped around the terminal screaming if I thought it wouldn't attract the attention of TSA officials. My reason for leaving the Twin Cities was even more dubious than the sudden urge to scream.

Allow me to backtrack:

I received a letter none too long ago from my old high school crush, Carolyn "Carly" Lindholm, with an invite to San Francisco. She hadn't really given an explanation as to the invite, only a sudden message: oh, you should come to San Fran for a couple days. It'll be fun. They have the best Chinese food in the West Coast! Hope to see you soon! Love, Carly.

Okay, so she hadn't actually phrased it in that way, but given the time I could barely remember the contents of the message. It was such a foolish thing, one I had realized too late. I was about to follow a girl I hadn't seen in six years across the country on pure impulse. How stupid is that?

You must be thinking 'pretty stupid' as you're reading this. My sister and parents certainly did. Let's be honest, though, is there a single person in this country who hasn't done followed their crush on a whim, or knows someone who has? During high school, I watched Carly like she was Botticelli's Venus. Then again, I was a mere sixteen years old. Any girl that I thought was beautiful would match that wondrous image in my eyes.

Carly exceeded all of them.

Though I wax Renaissance flavor, my real life reflected a Woody Allen film, be it 'Annie Hall' or 'Hannah & Her Sisters'. To my eyes, Carly was perfect. To her own eyes (and, I'm sure, many of our classmates), I was the tall, gawky boy whose mouth was too big for his face and whose limbs were so long he couldn't help but trip over people. Even though one would think we'd be mismatched as a couple, we were good friends. She and I often sat and talked together at lunch, despite the popular crowd's dismay. We didn't care. We hung out with whom we wanted to hang out with. The others who rounded out our own Breakfast Club were Sophie Friedel, Chuck Sorensen, and Stephen Nelson. Each had their own unique personality, which I'll get to talking about later.

I eventually fell asleep in my seat, exhaustion having gotten the better of me.

THUNK

Needless to say, my peaceful slumber didn't last long.

"You should be a little more careful around here, Feathers. It's too easy to get your stuff stolen."

I opened my eyes blearily to the voice with a groan. The owner of said voice sat across from me, yellow eyes slightly tinged red. Once I could see better, I realized it was a clouded leopard. Her face was kind enough, and she looked to be around my age, though it was clear she was about as big a fan as I was of early morning flights. She was also very attractive, even to my tired eyes.

"Point taken." I rubbed at my face. "How long was I asleep?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. I just got here ten minutes ago."

"SHIT!" I jumped up, no longer paying attention, quickly stuffed my phone into my jacket, and scrambled to pick up my bags. Something was trying to penetrate my senses, but my sleep-addled brain refused to listen. That was when I felt my cheek start to sting. I was suddenly more awake. I raised my wing to the spot and turned, slightly incredulous, to look at the woman who had just slapped me. I said nothing; I was shocked by her action, considering I had no idea who this person was. "Why did you do that?" I finally asked.

She was likewise shocked by her action. After a few seconds, she dropped her arm and sighed disparagingly, following it with, "It was the first thing that came to mind."

I blinked.

She explained further, punctuating it with a hard glare, "You were panicking, and the flight doesn't leave for another two hours, you stupid bird. Just be glad no one else is around to see you lose it."

Aww, lookit, kids! It's hate at first sight!

"Well, kitty, I'm so sorry I disturbed your little nap. I'll just be moving over there," I replied scathingly, pointing a wing to the area nearest to the gate. I needed coffee, badly; under other circumstances, I'm usually a genial person. Right now, I was tired, miserably cold, and being forced to stay awake with some pretentious feline as my company had soured whatever good mood I had.

"Don't call me 'kitty,'" she growled. How could I ever think she was kind?

"Don't call me 'feathers,'" I retorted, and wasted no time putting some distance between us. I swear I could feel her glaring at the back of my head, and though some small part of me felt ashamed, it was nowhere near enough to make a difference.

By the time the gate had opened, all thoughts of the irate stranger were extinguished. "Group 2!" the desk clerk called, and I gathered my things; a lot less hastily, I might add. My entire focus was on the gate itself, not on the people around me. No paper trail to deal with, since my boarding pass was on my phone, and I was soon walking down the thirty-foot span to the plane. My prize window seat was in the seventh row, and it was as uncomfortable as I'd predicted. The plastic was drilling a hole into my back. Just as I was trying to mold myself into it, I hear,

"You've gotta be shitting me."

I looked up, and a thunderstorm erupted in my brain. "What are you doing here?"

The leopard shoved her boarding pass into my face. "I'm 7B, dumbass. I'm your flight partner." She tucked it away and grinned wickedly as she sat down. I couldn't help but notice how razor sharp her teeth seemed. "This...is gonna be fun!"

I mentally groaned. You know those people who say 'wishing is a waste of time'? I wished they would shut up. I wished I was bored again. I wished I had taken a different flight because, while this may be not be hell, it was pretty close.

About an hour into the flight I was, predictably, lamenting my seating arrangement. There were times that I wished I had teeth, because all I felt like doing right now was gritting them. Take right now, for instance:

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

I could feel the heat rising to my face in annoyance. "No."

"Are we there _yet_?"

"No." Goddamn her. She was really enjoying this.

"Are we there yet?"

I clamped my beak shut. I was not going to let her bait me further.

"How about now?" she whispered in my ear. I was startled by her proximity, but more so by what she did next.

She licked me.

I didn't even know her name and she just licked me.

"GAH!" If I could, I would have beat my wings to gain some altitude. No such luck, cramped quarters and all.

Instead, I glared. She chuckled, and I contemplated throwing her out the emergency door. The passengers around us looked scandalized, not that I could blame them. And damn it, some of them even looked amused. I wiped the saliva off my bill with my shirt sleeve then focused back on her. My face was flushed red in embarrassment and irritation, not that she could tell. "Are you happy?"

She smirked. "Much."

I leaned back and closed my eyes. "Great. I'm going to sleep now."

There were a few moments of blissful silence, of which I was _very_ grateful. I decided to let the matter rest. I didn't know this girl. I had no plans on _wanting_ to get to know her. Just let the mystery be. Allow me to sleep off my frustration until the plane was back on familiar ground.

"Are we…"

Argh. I kept my eyes closed. With my bill in a firm line, I said, sparingly, "No, and no, I am _not_ going to play this stupid charade with you any further. Just shut up and let me sleep or I'll be using your tongue as a parachute cord."

"Well, _sorry_."

I could almost taste her acerbic tone. "Whatever." I turned my face toward the window, still with eyes shut. Through my lids, the light was brightening into a pinkish-orange hue. I couldn't enjoy even a second of it, all thanks to my unwanted fellow passenger.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed before she asked another question, "Aren't you even the least bit curious about me?"

I sighed. She just wasn't going to let up. I conceded surrender for the time being and opened my eyes with a response, "Should I be?"

She shrugged, as though to dismiss my coarse question. "I'll start then." _Oh goody_. "I'm Rachel." She held out her right paw.

I looked at it warily. The instance of her slapping me in the terminal was still quite vivid. After a short delay, I shook it against my wing. "Andrew."

"So tell me," my traveling companion asked, "why is a crane riding in a commercial airliner?" She smirked again. "Are your wings tired?"

I rolled my eyes. That joke is so old it's mummified. "Cute," I said sharply, "but it's really none of your business."

"Aw, c'mon! I shared some stuff about myself. You could at least do the same."

"Sharing a name isn't the same as relating a personal story. So forgive me if I refuse."

She seemed at a loss for a conversational topic, for which I was once again thankful. I pulled out my copy of 1776 and began rereading the fourth chapter. As I did, I silently chanted, _'Stay quiet, stay quiet, stay quiet.'_ It was a vain hope.

"Ooh, I know! It's a girl, isn't it? You're flying out west to see a girl."

I literally choked. Fucking hell!

"It _is_," she mused, having noticed my reaction. She was way more ecstatic than I felt she had a right to be. It was unfortunate my conduct had betrayed my reasoning to stay guarded in the matter. As well, it brought up some painful memories concerning the last time I had seen Carly. It goes without saying that I haven't had much luck with women in the past. In one case, I'd opted to go on a 'date' in Minneapolis with a girl named Gemma. The night had ended with me getting introduced to her oafish boyfriend and later on driving back to Sartell, not heartbroken but still disappointed.

Carly was the prime example of my failure in romance. She and I didn't exactly part on the best of terms. That story brought the best of Fellini and Woody Allen's work to project into our own lives. Just as I had no girlfriend during high school, Carly didn't have a boyfriend, despite her popularity. No self-respecting guy (supposedly) wanted to date a girl with poison in her jawline. I guess I was just foolhardy that way, even though I knew, since she told me long before, she had no trace of venom in her system. The more plausible reason was that she was in love with Chuck.

I'm not sure how long she had a crush on him. I'm not even sure if he had known. Either way, the joke was on both of us. He was too busy trying to woo Sophie. Let me tell you, that was not an easy task. Sophie was as stubborn as they come, honest to a fault, and fiercely independent. But if anything, Chuck proved to be equally stubborn. He was the biggest geek in our school, but he also had an intense passion for high school sports. During our junior year, he began to compete in several teams, including rugby and wrestling, with some success. It wasn't until he started improvising (Don't ask me how. I never was one to follow sports much), and winning, that Sophie started to take notice. Six months into our senior year, Sophie and Chuck were officially dating.

I was happy for them, without a doubt. Carly wasn't. At the time, it was a puzzle. As soon as I learned the truth from her, I was upset. No, it was a kaleidoscope of emotions. Upset, angry, morose, jealous, pick your type. I'm not proud of myself, but I had it out with her, verbally. I can't for the life of me remember what was said, only that we argued until we were both red and dark green in the face. The gist of the argument is still clear: she only saw me as a friend, nothing more. Carly actually cried a little. I wanted to cry too, but with me being a bird, I have no tear ducts. That scene took place two weeks following our graduation and shortly thereafter I left for Chicago. I hadn't spoken to her since.

So the real reason that I'm on this flight? I'm hoping to make amends with her. And with any luck, start over. It was a slim hope, I know, but it was better than having none at all.

"So who is she, and how do you know her? What's your history? Give me the details."

Try telling that to my neighbor. I broke from my mind rambling to look at her. She had her paws knuckled under her chin, gazing toward me with a shining expression that said it was hungry for juicy gossip. Not for the first time, I took note of how pretty she was. That still didn't mean I was going to give her information freely.

I turned attention back to my book, feeling my composure slowly restore itself. "Still none of your business," I sang.

"Oh, come on!" she protested.

"Nope," I replied, then I blew a raspberry at her, something I hadn't done since I was a chick. The score was Andrew: 1. Maturity: 0. Heaven help if there wasn't a small part of me relishing this. It was like I was baiting a hook in front of a trout.

"Real mature, Andrew."

"Glad you think so," I quipped back. I was, once again, soon lost in the pages. That was until a brown furred paw actually reached down to cover the binding. I tugged it from underneath, then faced her as my irritation returned. "What do you want?"

Rachel's face was somber. "I just want you to be honest with me. Please? Tell me what happened."

I'm not really sure what my face must have looked like in that moment, but it felt like someone was trying to shape it with clay. I began to sputter, feeling more wound up than Rodney McKay when being distracted on a science project, "Wha-rgh-, ngh, are you serious? Fine! Let me be completely honest. You haven't done a single thing since we met at the gate except berate and annoy, annoy, annoy the hell out of me! What makes you _honestly_ think I'm going to tell you anything? You certainly haven't earned that right! I don't even know who you are!"

It seemed remarkable how she could act so calm while I was the one ranting incoherently. I thought _I_ was supposed the calm one. God sure loves the irony he plays on us poor mortals.

If anything, though, it served to play back the last minute in my head. I felt ashamed and angry, mostly at myself. I laid back in my seat and let out a pent-up breath. This was out of character even for me, the normally placid twig of a bird.

"Sir? Is everything okay?"

I looked up, feeling drained. A doe in a flight attendant's outfit stood in the aisle, her smile bordering on anxious. Three guesses as to the reason. She'd probably heard our argument, aka my one-sided rant. Rachel had a thoughtful look on her face, staring at some point between me and our tray tables. I let another breath loose, and said to the attendant, "I'll have a coffee, please. Three cream, three sugar." I cleared my throat. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?" I gestured with my beak to the attendant. "Oh, just a water, thanks."

She smiled, more genuinely this time. "Coming right up."

Once the attendant had gone to fix our drinks, Rachel turned my way, and somehow, however impossibly, we were in perfect synchronization by saying, "I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have pushed you to answer something when you were already uncomfortable with it. God, you must hate me…"

"Hey, I'm the one who snapped. I'm not usually like that, trust me. This hasn't been one of my better mornings, and I never said it was your fault." The doe came back with our drinks and I paused to take a sip. The coffee didn't taste that great, but it fulfilled its duty toward making me more alert. I downed it until it was nearly empty, then lapped up the remaining drops with my tongue.

Rachel gagged. "Eww. Are you sure you don't have cat blood in your family tree somewhere? Because I've only ever seen them do that before."

"Said the unmistakable cat," I replied, eyeing the rim of the mug. "So, what made you decide to be nice all of a sudden? I'm not asking that to be rude, of course, but my earlier behavior hasn't exactly warranted generosity."

She smiled, a hint of nostalgia in it. "Just part of a quote I remembered, 'If I am not for others, what am I?' That quote has been like an heirloom in my family ever since my great-grandparents fled from Marseille."

I nodded. "Yeah, I recognize that one. Hillel, right?"

"That's right," she confirmed.

A healthy silence ensued, along with the sense I'd developed some kind of rapport with her. No longer were we circling the social waters like hungry sharks looking for a snack.

I opened my mouth, not sure of what I'd say, "Do you still want to know about the girl?" I hesitated when Rachel turned her surprised eyes onto me.

"You're serious?"

I nodded.

She graced me a small smile. "I'm honored."

There's a quote from 'Hannah & Her Sisters' that would reflect heavily on my situation: "For all my education, accomplishments and so-called wisdom, I can't fathom my own heart." For me, I think it's been that way ever since I moved to Minnesota. I was always one who tended to follow my heart instead of my brain. No one in their right mind would call what I was doing wise. The simple truth is that people's hearts will, oftentimes, overrule common sense and logic. It makes no difference just how smart or selfless that person is. That was exactly the case for me, on this plane.

Having to deal with this mercurial individual, for example, was something I hadn't prepared for. Mix that in with what I was about to tell her, well, it was almost like unveiling a secret the size of a mushroom cloud.

"Andrew? Are you okay?" Rachel was looking at me intently.

I really had been musing for too long. Before I knew it, my mouth acted independently. I talked about how Carly had been in love with Chuck, and the disappointment I'd felt when I discovered it, and then I wrapped up the story with my inter-collegiate romantic failings. God, I even got to talking about how all my friends were now married. Chuck and Sophie had had the knot tied for two years already and Stephen had married his college girlfriend, Linda, six months ago. "So here I am: twenty five years old and the world's biggest fifth wheel." I sighed bitterly, turning to look out the window. "Love is such bullshit."

"Spoken like a true cynic."

"Sorry."

"Don't say it if you don't mean it, Andrew." She grabbed my wing by the tip. It surprised me enough to turn around. I glanced at our joined limbs with my brows raised, then looked at her face. She seemed to have lost track of what she was doing, and I could actually feel a sort of grief emanating off of her. She kept stroking my wing with a finger until I cleared my throat. She stopped stroking but her paw stayed where it was. There was a level of intimacy present there that I was certain hadn't been there previously. The only thing I could say about it is that I was confused. I didn't understand why she didn't let go, but she made her reason apparent with her next words, "I've had my share of breakups in the past. I can't say I've gone through what you have in quite the same way, but I know how it feels. The one that sticks in my mind is this guy named Kevin, whom I had known since cubhood. He was incredible. He had a deep fascination with machines, and could fix just about anything he set his mind to…" she took a shuddering breath, "except for himself. When we turned thirteen he contracted leukemia. He died almost a year later. Every science fair award he'd won and every accomplishment he had made passed into a random statistic." She sighed, glancing back at me. "If he had lived, I would have felt ready to call him my first boyfriend. So while it was never a breakup in the strictest sense of the word, he still managed to break my heart." She said nothing more, but the sound of her breathing slowly changed: she had fallen asleep.

I detached my wing gently from her grasp, so as not to wake her, then turned my gaze out the window once again. I couldn't describe the feeling correctly, though I was conflicted. I mean, I was going to see a girl and another girl had stepped into my path. How messed up is that scenario? Is it irony? Or merely a strange case of circumstance? I didn't know. That Rachel was attractive, there was no doubt. I just wasn't attracted to her. Besides, if there was any intimacy, which I may only have imagined, it would surely evaporate once we were off the plane and out of each other's lives. Call me callous if you will, but I've never heard of anything resembling an airport romance, let alone it being advantageous.

The view out my window suddenly shifted as the plane banked left. I was startled into looking toward the cockpit. Then a voice sounded over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot, Captain Farrow. Due to the national winter weather advisory, we will be making an unscheduled stop at Cheyenne Regional within the next twenty minutes. The expected lag time in Cheyenne is anywhere from three hours to eighteen. Please enjoy the rest of your flight."

Rachel stirred then, just as my heart was sinking into my feet. "Andrew, are we in San Francisco already?"

"No," I said, bitterly, "but we're landing."

She leaned over me to glance out the window. "Where are we?"

I pulled my flatcap down around my head, partly to reign in my temper toward the pilot, but when she performed that action, I couldn't help but notice how... _supple_ she was. My libido shot into overdrive, and to counter it my thought process was like this: _pickles, cucumbers, Arctic waters, mountaintops, buckets of ice, dead fish, fat guy in sweats_. "We're coming into Cheyenne. Winter weather advisory."

"That's too bad. Did he say how long it would take to leave?" _Goddamn it! Why wouldn't she move?!_

"Three hours to almost a day, apparently." _Did she know the effect she was having on me?_

"More time for us," she said, finally moving back to her chair.

Us?

Was she serious?

"Listen to me carefully, Rachel. There is no 'us'. We might have shared one or two stories, but that does not mean I know you any better than I did in Minneapolis. As soon as we land, I'll be getting on the first bus or train going to Frisco."

I expected her to pout, or argue, or even to write me off as a lost cause, but to my surprise she just said, "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeated.

She nodded, then pulled out a pair of headphones and promptly ignored me the rest of the flight. My face was impassive, but I remained suspicious inside. I somehow got the feeling she knew something I didn't.

When we touched down, it became readily apparent why. The falling snow was coming down in a torrent so heavy that, when I actually did get the chance to check for any outgoing buses or trains, I found they were all canceled. No one wanted to go far in this lousy weather. Not a single rental car remained on the lot. In addition to that, I had lost all sight of Rachel. I was SOL like Steve Martin.

I was now sitting in a booth at the Peaks Cafe, nursing a Blue Moon and mentally using whatever profanity I could think of against United Airlines. I was never going to board another one of their flights.

"Oh, good. You're still here."

I looked up, surprised and even the smallest bit relieved when I heard that familiar voice. "Rachel? I thought you'd left."

"What, and leave you high and dry in this part of nowhere? Not my style." She slid down into the opposite seat. "Sorry I took off so suddenly. Do you realize how hard it is to find a rental car in this place?" I nodded. "Okay, well, anyway, I had enough of a dilemma running around the rental booths. I was in the Hertz line, and some sleazy guy was trying to flirt his way to a free deal. The receptionist wouldn't take his shit, but she has her job to worry about and thus couldn't complain, so being the good samaritan that I am," she grinned wickedly. I could suddenly see where this was going, "I pretended to walk in, trip, and fall on him, when really I had twisted my ankle around his lower leg and I spun around as I fell. His other leg ran into the stanchion when he pivoted. It'll leave a big bruise, no doubt, but it's still less than he deserves. The girl was so grateful that she had me sign the agreement on the spot."

"What kind of car did you get?"

"'97 Jetta. I have to admit, the new ones look a hell of a lot nicer."

"Anything's nicer than riding around in a box," I said in agreement.

"Or flying around in a tube."

"Precisely." I shrugged. "Can't say I'm thrilled, but what the hell? I'll take whatever comes."

"Good."

Without warning, she grabbed my drink and quickly downed the rest of it, much to my indignation, "Thanks, Rach."

"You're welcome."

"I wasn't finished with that."

She let loose a loud belch.

"Wow. Do you kiss a lot of guys with that mouth?"

"Deal with it, Feathers. You and I are stuck together until we get to San Fran. We'll be following I-80 most of the way. If you're lucky, I may even let you drive for a bit."

"I'm so touched," I deadpan, "and don't call me 'Feathers.'" She laughed it off. I smiled when I said that, though. I couldn't believe God had put such a companion in my path, but I was extremely grateful. Maybe things would turn out for the better, as long as I had her for a friend.

...Wait.

Friend?

Is that what was happening?

Then again, I may be reading into this a little too much. I've always been that way, from the first time I was able to form a sentence. My life has revolved around critical thinking, over-analyzation, and making assumptions based on patterns. Sound familiar? That does not make me into a Sherlock Holmes, or a Hercule Poirot, or a Robert Langdon. I'm no detective, if the last nine hours I've written about weren't an indication.

Rachel is the biggest enigma I have met in my life, and that's saying something. I expected her to do one thing, and she turned around and did another thing entirely; a veritable living contradiction. She didn't have to come back for me after we had departed the plane, and yet she did. I was very grateful to her for that, since it would get me and San Francisco, and to Carly, that much faster.

The leopard shrugged good-naturedly when I said as much. "Why else would I be doing it? I just hope this Carly knows how lucky she'll be when she sees you again."

Was that jealousy I detected in her voice? Or wistfulness? Nah, I was imagining it. Had to be. I dismissed the notion, considering we had more pressing issues to contend with. The snowfall was rapidly bordering on treacherous, so much that I could almost set lyrics to this:

_Trudging through the snow_  
><em>All along this broken lane<em>  
><em>O'er the weeds we go<em>  
><em>Wincing all the way<em>  
><em>Ow ow ow<em>  
><em>Our feet will sting! We cry<em>  
><em>Our tears will freeze drip-dry<em>  
><em>What fun it is to walk in snow<em>  
><em>And slip and fall, bye bye!<em>

I had to stifle a laugh at the random verse that popped into my head. Rachel looked back at me, most likely in response to my choked snort, but before she could ask me anything, a patch of black ice shown like a mirror on the pavement and I actually did slip and fall. I tried flapping my wings to gain some balance, but doing so served to throw me off balance more than I was with the weight I was carrying. My humor evaporated posthaste. "Ow…"

Rachel squatted down beside me. "Andrew! Are you okay? Are you hurt? How many digits am I holding up?" To my everlasting embarrassment, she was doing just that.

I closed my eyes to try and ignore the headache that was forming from when I'd landed in the snowdrift. "Three, Rachel. I had a fall, not a concussion. Ugh...help me up, please?"

She took it slowly, as if afraid I might crack into a thousand pieces. "I'm not that fragile," I muttered through my beak. But I had lied. That was exactly how I felt. Fragile. The fall alone had taken a lot of the wind out of me. It didn't help that I was carrying most of my stuff in front of me, and having a boulder fall on me at that moment would've felt the same way. What I couldn't get over wasn't the fact of my slipping on the ice, but the way Rachel was toting me along like I was a wet rag over her shoulder. Enough snow was falling by that time, and by the time we arrived at her rental, she hoisted me against the door and then went back for my stuff which was over a few feet away, as she had divested it just before lifting me up. Then she lowered me into the seat, remarkably gently.

"All right, Andrew, I'm going to push the seat up. Lean forward when I say to," Rachel said.

I still had my eyes closed. "Will do."

"Now."

My brain was starting to resemble a blended smoothie, and I shut my beak against a pained moan, but I still complied with her instructions. Before I knew it, she had closed the driver's seat and asked. "You okay?"

"Been better," I said weakly.

"God, Andrew, you're such a klutz," she said amusedly.

"But you love me anyway," I replied, as the lights in my eyes started to dissolve. I wish I'd been a little more coherent then, because I'd no idea what her reaction to my words would cause. I would have taken them back immediately.

Instead, I turned my head to the side, already drifting off to dream…

_I've had some pretty memorable ones in the past, but compared to the one I was experiencing right now, they may well have been just blank spaces. Many of my dreams had set me in pretty fantastic scenarios, much like this one, though none of them were quite this vivid._

_Couples of many species swayed all around me. The music probably wasn't the most upbeat, but many still twirled, some rather extravagantly as they fell into a rhythm beyond my hearing. They jived, they dipped, they swung upside down and…oh…_

_I didn't even know I could blush inside a dreamscape. I hastily walked past, trying to get the perception of what I'd just seen out of my mind._

_Actually, I was already in my mind. That wasn't going to work._

_A new tune commenced on the stage: woodwind and brass. It was slow, melodic to the point that the crowd ceased its rampant jungle atmosphere and the various, mixed couples held each other close, readily falling to the grace of the big band's rendition of the song I recognized as 'Begin The Beguine'._

_The clarinet was added to the forefront as I finally realized I had nobody to dance with. I glanced around, hoping, to no avail, to find at least one familiar face, then I grimaced. It would probably help if I wasn't in the middle of the dance floor. I waddled against the dancing people, looking for some purchase to push through but the process was akin to walking through mud, very slow going._

_When I arrived at the entrance, I almost stumbled as one of the many couples bumped into me from my left. They uttered a rather perfunctory "Sorry" before they resumed their close dance and put me out of their minds completely. I was irritated but the couple had gone by the time I turned around, already lost in the deluge of dancers and music._

_The entrance of the hall itself was adorned in bright red velvet, displaying the crowded auditorium in a very realistic 1940's setup. A white haze drifted above the dancer's heads from multiple points inside: cigarette smoke._

_"Wow, what a dreamboat!"_

_"Shh, he'll hear you!"_

_"He probably has, ladies. He's a bird, remember?"_

_"I don't care. I'm claiming him."_

_I turned in the direction of the voices, finding myself a bit shocked that I both did and didn't recognize them. Sophie, Carly, and Rachel. All were made up in the same 1940's dress as most of the dance floor. Then I realized I was too._

_Sophie was clad in a sleeveless emerald green dress, looking devastatingly seductive, the velour fedora adding flavor to her demeanor. As well, the tiger smirked in a 'come-hither' fashion when she caught my eye. It was somewhat unnerving to see her like that, when she was usually so firm in her blunt demeanor, but I couldn't deny I found it a little sexy._

_Carly was, for vanity's sake, covered neck to tail tip in a burgundy colored sash. The upper half of it was imprinted in white lines while the bottom half imitated a bouquet of red roses. Lilies rested atop the snake's head. Her makeup had been verily emphasized; lipstick and eyeliner giving her the aura of what I assumed was supposed to be Betty Grable or Lana Turner. She noticed me watching and her fangs lifted up into a smile._

_But it was Rachel who took the cake. The clouded leopard was clad entirely in white; a floury dress that rippled with persuasion and dipped down into a v-neck. Her head wasn't covered like Sophie or Carly, but that only served to make her more beautiful, something I didn't think was possible. My heart began to sing along with the encore as the band played 'Star Dust'. There was a smoky gaze fixed on my eyes and a cigarette burning in her paw as she sashayed in my direction._

_Carly looked terribly morose as I watched her leave the auditorium._

_Sophie looked downward for a moment before a black paw tilted her chin up. She smiled at the panda who'd grabbed her attention before both disappeared into the dance._

_My wing fumbled around my neckline as Rachel approached, making me feel as though I was starting to choke through my tuxedo. The air was stifling, but all of that feeling and noise from the band and the crowd faded when I saw the gleam in her eyes._

_"What's a dish like you doing in a place like this?"_

_The answer, to my surprise, came easily, "Aiming for the best." That being said, I captured her mouth._

_The faded music suddenly rebounded as the leader of the band sang,_

_"In my heart, it will remain, baby,_

_My stardust melody,_

_Oh memory, oh memory…_

"…oh mmrri…"

The smoke slowly lifted from my eyes. It was strange, watching one world fade and another come into view. The dance floor merged with a hotel room that I didn't recognize, and I noticed I was lying on a bed. Again another novelty for me. As a crane, I'm limited. Our species cannot produce tears, as I had mentioned before. Neither do we bite, so instead we nip at our food with our beaks. Also, there's not a single crane, or bird, that I know of whom would use an actual bed to sleep in. As far as I knew, I was the first in my family to do so.

With sleep rapidly escaping me, I was able to gather a little more of my surroundings. I was definitely in a hotel room. One which had seen better days. There was a distinct _odeur de moisi_ that made me want to gag. The pictures on the wall hung lopsided, there was a visible crack in the television, and I was afraid of what I'd see if I looked under the bed sheets. Filthy room or not, I decided to wash up. The bathroom appeared much cleaner than the rest of the room, and in less than no time I was underneath a steaming hot fountain.

Once I'd dried off and dressed, I set about trying to find Rachel. Something I didn't consider, but should have, was that neither of us had exchanged a lick of information. In hindsight, that was about the worst thing that I, that we, could have overlooked. I opened up the blinds to see the Wyoming (or so I assume) sky, as white and troublesome as I remembered when I passed out. There was nothing outside. No note on the desk, no sign of her bags, no car within view, and nothing to indicate where she may have gone.

I drew a breath, and opened the door. "It's fine. Totally fine." Even as I said it, I realized my own words were not convincing me. I walked down to the hotel lobby as nonchalant as I could, hoping Rachel had left some sort of hint there. I opened the door to a woman I didn't recognize. She was a brown eagle, with a matronly air surrounding her. She was wearing glasses. I was surprised for a second, before realizing it might be due to any number of eye diseases. I didn't know, since I wasn't a doctor, and I felt it would be impolite to ask. She looked up when I approached the desk. "Hello, young man. Would you like a room for the night?"

"No thank you. I already have a room. I came here with a girl yesterday and now I can't find her."

Her eyes crossed in confusion before clearing. "Oh, that's right, the cat."

I nodded.

"Funny girl. She seemed a little out of sorts this morning, leaving in such a hurry. I'm surprised you're still here." She tsked in disapproval. "You youngsters have no sense of propriety these days. When I was young, we…"

I barely heard her meaningless spiel as I felt devastation take hold of my emotions. Rachel was gone? Why? Was it what I'd said before I slept? My heart may well have escaped my body and I would never have noticed. I was overanalyzing again. Why was I so broken up about this? I knew our partnership was a temporary compromise. I knew that once we reached San Francisco, it was over. Done. Kaput, and so forth. "Thank you for letting me know," I told the eagle, and made my exit.

The dream that I had remained with me all through Laramie, as I called a taxi service for pickup, as I signed the rental agreement at Enterprise and, finally, as I was leaving the city. I didn't bother looking back as I drove; it seemed too easy for me to imagine facing the same fate as Lot's wife.

My destination hadn't changed, but it was a curious feeling.

Seeing Carly no longer seemed so important.


End file.
